Fallen Angel
by Bob J Montonelli
Summary: A little story from Riff and Magenta's childhood. Scribblings from my class notebook, haha...
1. Fallen

Riff-Raff had was not supposed to be climbing on the roof--he knew this. But he had to get Magenta's doll, flung by the bullies up to the school roof. The old slates wriggled under his careful steps, but he weighed so little that they did not break. He almost had it, it was just within reach--snagged in a gutter amidst the leaf matter. He reached down, just barely balanced, reached, and snagged it--and quite suddenly his light weight fell too far forward, and he tumbled straight down. He struck the gutter, snapped it, struck a gargoyle and bounced off, through a wall of vertigo, and finally slammed into the ground, the wind bashed ruthlessly from his lungs. His fingers twitched around the doll. He still had it.   
  
But he could barely breath. His vision clouded red and something wet and thick was dribbling down his chin. Pain registered last, and he wanted to gasp but *couldn't*, was hardly aware of the people gathering around him, children's voices, an adult shouting things...  
Where was 'Genni? He had to give her the doll...he'd promised...  
Someone was talking to him. Telling him he'd be okay. His breath stabbed his lungs and he felt dizzy, weak, where was 'Genni, beautiful 'Genni, never left his side...he heard her voice...where?  
He was still holding the doll when consciousness gave way to a gaping maw of black and gold stars.   



	2. Lost

"He's going to be all right, won't he? He'll be fine! Mo-therrr! Tell me if Riff's okay!" Ten-year-old Magenta protested all the way up the stairs behind her mother. Her mother, an aging woman named Estrella, turned and gave her an exasperated look.   
"Magenta, really, I don't need this right now!" Her face was pale and harrowed.   
Magenta sat at the top of the steps and sniffled. She clutched her little cloth doll and stroked its yarn hair. This little thing, a toy, her most special possession...Riff had climbed the roof for it. Dear Riff, who was somewhere far, hurting, and alone. "Mother..." she whimpered.   
Estrella's face softened. She sat beside her daughter and hugged her close. "Oh, Magenta. My dear. Yes, Riff will be fine. Don't you worry."  
"Where *is* he?"  
"He's at the hospital, 'Genni. Father's with him."   
Tears dripped to the cloth of Magenta's doll, slipping down its oil-cloth face, as if it shared her plight and her fear. "Mother, I'm *scared*."  
"Shh..." her mother cooed and stroked her hair. "He'll be all right, 'Genni, I promise." 


	3. Night's Dreaming

Disclaimer: The name "Daan" is taken from another author's story...silly me forgets who right now, but they know. I bow before my elders.   
  
  
Dark. He was aware of the darkness as he awoke, so slowly, its comforting arms reaching out for him, trying to bring him back to his home. Secondly, came the moonlight, casting blue shadows on white walls, and the slow coalescing of the night sky through the window. Twin moons rose side-by-side, one muddy red, the other tawny yellow. Shan and Daan, the natural night-lights he'd known all his life.   
At last came the pain. Spasming muscles in his back and a horrendous headache, and his arm heavy and immobile. For a long time, he stared at the ceiling, listening to the little house creak and moan, and the slight, puffy breaths of his sister in the lower bunk. He closed his eyes, let the sounds wash over him in time to the multicolored stars behind his eyelids.   
The breathing changed. Had he made a noise to awake her? He wasn't sure. He hoped not. His sister deserved the rest.   
But no, she was awake, as evidenced by the groan of protest as she climbed the ladder to his bunk, and the cool hand pressed to his.   
"Riff...Riff...are you awake? Are you okay? I'm sorry I made you climb up and get hurt...I'm sorry, Riff...please wake up?"  
He opened his eyes. 'Genni's eager, bright gaze met his.   
"Riff!"  
"Shh..."  
"Riff...you're okay!" She hugged him tightly, if a little awkwardly, around the neck and hopped up beside him. He sat up slowly, careful of his bandaged hand.   
"'Genni..."  
  
She curled up beside him, resting her head on his chest, one hand clutching her ever-present doll. "Oh, Riff..." she whispered. "I thought you *died*! You were bleeding, and, and Imirope, she told everyone to get away, and they wouldn't let me see you--!"  
"Shh, 'Genni..." he soothed, stroking her arm with a free hand. "I'm fine." Though in truth he wasn't. Magenta seemed to sense this, for she always seemed to now how he felt, and rubbed the beck of his neck, slowly, releasing the tense muscles. He murmured softly, happily. Nothing could make him feel more contented, nothing ever had, not his mother's touch or even the steady, undying glow of the twin moons. How he loved his little sister, adored her, survived by her constant faith in him and her gentle eagerness.   
As though she could read his mind, she spoke again. "Love you so much, 'Iffy..." Iffy. The name she called him when she was a toddler, and couldn't get the r's out. It harkened him back to the age of five, playing with a two-year-old Magenta on the floor of their apartment, drawing pictures with lumps of slag from the firepit, pointing out this or that...  
//"'Genni, look at this one--look, it's mama and father."  
"Mama-da!" Giggled the red-haired toddler, drawing spiral after spiral on her sheets of paper. She drew one figure, a stick drawing with thin, straight hair. "Iffy! Dat Iffy!"  
He hugged her. "Yeah, 'Genni. That's me." //  
Years passing when he came home every day with a bloody nose, and Magenta fussing over him like a little mother, wiping away the dark blood and kissing every scrape or bruise she found. How different was now from then? With his headache, he couldn't think of any.   
Magenta was twirling his hair, he noticed. So unlike her own, his was--long, straight, and pale to thick, curly red. He rolled over and kissed her forehead, her cheek, her nose. The pain didn't seem so bad with her around to tend to his hurts. 


	4. Nightmare waking

Darkness again. Deep as where he'd fallen, like swimming in the quarry at midnight, with the glow of the moons to guide them. Laughter. Back when mother was still ok, and papa...well, papa was never ok. Teaching Magenta...  
//"Here, like this...come on, it's ok. It's only water, Magenta! Just like a bath, you silly goof."  
"'Iffy, me no like da baths!"  
"Come on Magenta!"  
"No, 'Iffy, I don't like it...'Iffy, it's scary, the dark 'Iffy, it's scaring me, no...!"//  
He woke, his heart wrenching like a caged bird. His muscles were spasming again, making him want to cry. But how could he cry? Wasn't Magenta scared? Magenta...  
He looked around. She wasn't there. The bed beside him was cold. He lay back. Probably just went back to her own bed...  
But no. He heard...  
"No, papa! No, please don't! Papa, stop, papa don't...'IFFY!"  
His sister. Dearest, most beautiful...'Genni...  
"IFFY!" A shriek, high and wavering, full of confusion and terror and pain. Despite his protesting body, he leapt out of bed, landing with a hard whump to the floor. Again, his back howled, but Magenta was screaming louder.   
"'Genni!" He yelled out for her. There was his father, as he had always seen him, angry, drunk...and stupid. Didn't think Riff was a threat. Stupid mistake, papa, he thought. He leapt with all his gathered young fury and landed on his father's back, screaming wordlessly, the world gone dark to all but his anger, and the safety of his beautiful, beloved sister. I will help you, 'Genni, I will make so you won't be scared, I'll love you 'Genni, I promise, I'll never let the darkness hurt you, oh 'Genni, I promise, I love you...  
He did not feel it when his father slumped beneath him, or when he himself his tenuous control on consciousness and the adrenaline slipped away to leave him in dazed exhaustion on the floor. 


End file.
